


Business

by invitemetoyourmemories



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jerott and Marthe being terrible to each other, Jerott being very oblivious re: how he feels about Francis, canon does not say that Marthe doesn't have an alchemy lab in the basement, extremely underresearched commodities trading, however spoiler warning ... they also hug, rated T for Marthe Being A Jerk and Bad Relationship Models
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invitemetoyourmemories/pseuds/invitemetoyourmemories
Summary: There's a business deal that Marthe wants to make. Jerott is here to help.Set just before the start of Checkmate.





	Business

**Author's Note:**

> For ienthuse on Tumblr, for ScotSwap 2018.

Marthe came into the house, late again, carrying a sheaf of papers, again. “The figures are on my side”, she snapped as she slammed the door. “If this pattern continues, this will be the best price he’ll get in three years. But that ignorant--” She stopped and looked at Jerott. “Not that you care.”

Jerott would care, if he had any idea what was going on. His wife’s business seemed to involve a fair bit more lying than he was strictly comfortable with, and an alarming amount of clairvoyance. How could you even claim to guess the price of silk or dye or gold _years_ into the future? You’d surely have to know the weather that far in advance, and no one claimed to be that prescient. But Marthe had been striking deals and signing contracts for a few years now, based on her “forecasts”. Sometimes she was even right, and they’d made a small fortunate. That didn’t mean he understood any of it.

“I didn’t marry you for your money,” he said. For some reason, that just made her upset, and she stormed off to her desk. She sat glaring at a sheet of calculations that she’d written out, as if her ire could change them to a more advantageous form.

Jerott might not know quite how Marthe ran her business, but mathematics he could comprehend. Maybe he could help. He walked over to her desk.

“And here I thought you wanted us to enter into noble impoverishment, which nourishes the soul even as it deprives the body,” Marthe said.

Jerott sometimes wondered why he’d married a woman as acerbic as Marthe. If that was what he wanted, he may as well have married Francis. “What are you trying to do?” he asked.

“Oh,” Marthe said, picking up the topmost sheet of paper and looking at it, “I suppose I’ll tell you, and you’ll steal my business away from me. I’ll be the housewife you always wanted. Is that it?”

“No,” Jerott objected, “it’s -- you’re better at this than I am anyhow. I just want to help. You can have the rest.”

Marthe set her paper down and sighed. “I’m trying to secure a deal with this supplier, Reynaud.” She pointed at one piece of paper, then set it aside. “He deals in these commodities.” She pointed at a few columns on the next sheet. “Which I want at these prices. I’m willing to sign him a contract for the next three years, which ought to be to his advantage, when -” she skipped precisely eleven sheets down - “ _his_ sources, this one and this one, lower their prices when the English retreat, and-” - six more sheets - “this buyer of his going bankrupt.” She looked up at Jerott. “Don’t take up gambling,” she said.

“If the deal’s so good”, Jerott asked, “why won’t he just take it?”

“Because it’s markedly less than the going rate.” Marthe frowned. “Never mind that this Michel fellow is spending far less on wheat than he is on racing horses and fighting hounds. Never mind that in six months, _I’ll_ be the largest reseller in this region. The fool is focused entirely on the present, and is overlooking all possible future misfortune.”

Jerott leaned down, so his face was level with Marthe’s. “Have you tried explaining that to him?”

Marthe gave him a look that could have etched metal. “I’m not in the business of divulging all my intelligence to my competitors.”

Jerott smiled placatingly. “I just thought -”

“Let me work.” Marthe grabbed another piece of parchment and started scribbling on it furiously. Jerott opened his mouth to offer more advice. “Just _go,_ ” Marthe said without looking up. He took the hint.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning. Marthe had already left. She’d had a meeting of some kind, he vaguely remembered. Maybe he should start paying more attention to those. But today - today he had a problem he could solve.

* * *

It occurred to him, as he knocked on the door to Reynaud’s house, that he might not be as persuasive as he hoped. But he had to help - he’d feel crushed if he had some problem and Marthe just ignored it. If he failed, she’d be no worse off than before, surely.

* * *

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Reynaud said. Reynaud was a man as broad as Jerott, but perhaps half as tall. Jerott had to keep reminding himself that he was talking to a man, not a barrel.

“No,” said Jerott, “I’ve checked the figures.” He had. The predictions might be wrong, but the calculations were correct. If Marthe was right about the future, Reynaud’s only option was to sign her contract. “Your biggest buyer is going bankrupt, and my wife will have the best prices for you after that.”

“Does she often send her husband to argue for her when her own persuasions fail?” Reynaud asked snidely. “Is this what our business relationship will be like? I have no interest in alternately dealing with a conniving, parsimonious woman and her oh-so-generous husband. Thank you for the advice, Mr. Blyth, and kindly get the hell out of my house.”

Jerott walked home, opened a bottle of wine, and mentally composed a toast to Trying.

* * *

That evening, Marthe slammed the door open. Jerott hadn’t been aware that was possible. “You fool!” Marthe snapped. “Reynaud send me a letter today saying he categorically refused to deal with me. Because my imbecile husband-”

“I just thought-”

“No,” Marthe said acidly. “You acted without thought. If you had _thought_ , you would have stayed home.” She spun on her heel and stalked off to her desk.

Jerott followed after her. “I don’t want you to work yourself to exhaustion. When was the last time you slept? I haven’t seen you in our bed in a week--”

“Was subverting my plans supposed to get me back into your bed?” Marthe shut a ledger on her desk with far more force than was necessary. “You’ll have to add more appeal than that.”

“Ugh,” Jerott said, and stomped out of the house.

* * *

Half an hour and another bottle of wine later, Jerott had an idea. He stumbled home and into his study - avoiding Marthe, who appeared to be industriously ignoring everything outside of her own desk - and sat down and wrote. It took him four tries to get the wording right, and another six to copy it in the correct hand. By the time he was finished, he was nearly sober. He took his note, grabbed a stick of sulfur from Marthe’s alchemical supplies, and headed out to Reynaud’s house.

* * *

He spent the next day nursing a powerful headache, which had nearly dissipated when Marthe came home - before sunset, no less. Her eyes were gleaming.

“Reynaud signed my contract,” she announced. “At half the price I asked.”

“It worked,” Jerott said.

Marthe’s face became conspicuously blank. “I beg your pardon?”

“I wrote out the debts that Michel owed,” Jerott said. “And left a note with vague but menacing threats about doing business him again. And also, possibly, set fire to his henhouse.”

“Were you hoping to sail in and rescue me from a predicament of your own making?” Marthe’s tone and face were devoid of expression. “What debt of gratitude do I owe you now?”

Jerott frowned. “We’re even,” he said. “If I broke your inkwell, and then I fixed it, you wouldn’t owe me anything.” He paused, opened his mouth to say something different, closed it, and then said “Why would you need to be grateful to me, when I fixed my own mistake?”

Marthe slowly smiled. “We have no further obligations to each other, then.”

Jerott nodded. “Precisely.”

“Jerott,” she said, “never let me demean you by accusing you of being disingenuous.”

Jerott smiled back at her. “I’ve heard it said that honesty is a virtue.”

Marthe stepped closer and took his hand. “It’s fortunate, then, that you have enough for both of us.” She looked up at him. “Did you really burn down his henhouse?”

Jerott took her hand in both of his. “I’m not normally inclined to arson, but I wanted to set things right. When you’re the richest woman in France, I’d rather you not hold a grudge.”

“Let’s have a drink,” Marthe said. “Let’s celebrate.”

* * *

As they sat by the fire, drinking wine, Marthe said offhandedly, “Oh, I got a letter for you. Your friend Francis Crawford is coming back.” She handed him the letter, seal already broken. “He wants you to arrange something for him when he gets here.”

Jerott scanned the letter. “He posits that you’re his step-sister.”

“My business is my own,” Marthe said. “I will not give him a claim to it just because we look alike.”

Jerott turned to her. “Marthe. Are you going to fight with him the whole time he’s here?”

Marthe didn’t meet his eyes. “I will if he tries to take what’s mine. Are you going to pine after him the whole time he’s here?”

Jerott nearly dropped his wine. “No! No. Why would I? I’m worried he’ll do something to upset my exceedingly clever wife.” (“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Marthe said.) “Or he’ll get us all involved in some harebrained scheme. Or he’ll insult the king and get us all exiled. Or I’ll get thrown off a ship again. Frankly, I’m terrified.” He leaned over to wrap his arm around Marthe, who leaned close enough to let him do so.

“You’ll tell him no, then,” Marthe said.

“I can’t.” Jerott sighed. “Francis is like family.” Marthe looked at him. “Like you are. I couldn’t refuse either of you.”

“What if we were at odds?” Marthe asked quietly. “Which of us would you choose?”

Jerott laughed. “You might not always agree, but the two of you seriously opposing each other? I don’t think that’s likely.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then there was an AU where they lived happily ever after and nothing bad happened at all.


End file.
